Phantom of the Night
by dark twilight mistress
Summary: A great and terrible figure. A man seeking vengeance. A boy with a fragmented heart. All are one person: the Phantom of the Night. And now, when all hope is lost, he may find the answers to the mystery of his mother's death, hidden in... a girl? Review!


Edward's POV:

**(A/N: Hey guys, this is my first ever Twilight fanfic story, so please don't kill me, okay? And review please! No flaming.)**

Edward's POV:

I feel as though I am locked in a cage, trapped in the confines of my body, of my own humanity, feeling utterly helpless as I watch my mother shudder and shake. Her eyebrows knot together as she murmurs something that I cannot understand. I move closer to her, my feet stuck to the floor like blocks of lead as I kneel before the infirmary bed. She quivers and trembles beneath the snow white sheets, her pale little chin tucked into her neck. I feel nothing, just watch her timid, frail little body writhe and twist jerkily; she could have been possessed by some ungodly demon. I hardly notice the doctors rushing into the cubicle, nurses shouting down the hall frantically to one another, calling for help, more medicine, anything, anything, to keep my mother alive…

And yet I only hear the sound of her breathing. Despite her slender, petite form wiggling and writhing, she inhales and exhales completely normally, like she wasn't suffering through excruciating pain. Like she would wake up in a moment from whatever horrible nightmare and smile that glorious, sweet smile of hers, with the luminescent pearly-white teeth and the light crinkles in the corner of her left eye.

Like she wasn't about to die.

These doctors, these strange men, they went about their work, mumbling all her possible diagnoses, putting their hands all over her, searching desperately for a pulse that wouldn't be there for much longer…

Breathe in. Breathe out.

And then the door bursts open again, but I don't hear it. I only feel the gentle breeze of the sudden movement, the gentle breathing of my mother. A cart is rolled over to the side of the infirmary bed, with tubes, multi-colored and hostile-looking, spilling out of drawers. Someone grabs a needle, yanks the hospital robe sleeve up my mother's bony arm, sticks the needle deep into a vein.

And then I smell it.

The scent, the repulsive stench, a combination of rust and salt, burns my nostrils and chokes my throat. I can barely stand to see the crimson liquid on the tip of the needle, dripping down her arm, splashing on the hard tile of the hospital floor. I take in another breath, and I am hit by another wave of the nauseating smell, coughing under my breath.

I watch my mother again, watch as her movements slow. Her jerking and quivering drags, her writhing and shaking become sluggish. I watch my mother, as her eye brows slowly return to their normal positions, as her murmuring stops. Gently I place a hand on her arm. It is still, cold. I don't feel anything. Nothing at all.

The sorrowful looks cast upon me by the doctors and nurses barely register with me at all. I can see only my mother, her once fearful, angry face replaced by the porcelain doll face that I am so used to seeing. The doctors say things to me, things that sound like, "I'm sorry," and "We did the best we could."

Their words feel so wrong. I wonder why.

Then I hear him. The youngest doctor, brash and blond, claps a hand on my back, muttering to me, "She was never strong enough to fight anyways, son." A sickening grin plasters across his face.

And suddenly I'm looming over the doctor, and my ears are ringing for some reason. I think I hear a siren, but I don't see any police car, and then I realize that the siren is actually the doctor's high-pitched voice wailing into the night. His nose is bent at an odd angle, partially smashed inward, like someone has punched him, and then I feel the warm red liquid dripping off my hands and I realize that _I _punched him. My fingers are vibrating like crazy, holding on to the remnants of my anger. The smell of his blood wafts up through my nose, and I'm down on my knees, cradling my head in my hands, sinking further and further into oblivion. An image of two emerald irises flashes through my mind, wrought with worry and fear.

_Fight, my little Edward. Fight for everything you have._

My mother's face fades away at the back of my mind as I collapse from exhaustion.

**(A/N: So what do you guys think so far?? Keep in mind that this is just the prologue, so don't worry about being confused at first. Read and review, my darlings!!)**


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